


Would You Rather?

by DustyWolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Guys Being Guys, Multi, Party Games, This is weird, This wasn't planned, Would You Rather
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyWolf/pseuds/DustyWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driven from their rooms by the sound of giggling, some of the Eighth Year boys play a party game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And So It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just popping in for a visit.
> 
> This was something inspired by a fic by the same name on Fanfiction.net (read here >> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11090840/1/Would-You-Rather).
> 
> I must warn you - this spiraled out of my control by the second paragraph...

“What do you think they're doing up there?” Ron asked for the fifth time that evening, nudging his bishop towards Theo's queen.

 

“Girl stuff,” Dean replied without inflection, not even looking up from where he was drawing – doodling – on Harry's naked back.

 

“They” were the eighth year girls, who were all currently holed up in Hermione's room. The shrill giggles, shrieks of laughter and insistent whispering that emanated from behind the locked door had driven the boys from their own dorms. Most of the male eighth years had fled to Hogsmead, taking advantage of their extra privileges, but a few had elected to remain.

 

Ron and Theodore Nott were battling their way through an eleventh game of chess – and had decided that their next game would include a second board.

 

Seamus was cussing in fluent Gaelic as he attempted to carefully spell spilled ink off a novel-length letter he'd been writing when an exceedingly loud scream of laughter from upstairs had startled the wits out of him.

 

Neville was dozing on a couch, listening to the others chat with half an ear, a thick Herbology text resting on his chest.

 

Dean had completely covered Harry's back and front in doodles – he called them intricate drawings – and was now trying to convince the raven-haired boy to lose his jeans.

 

“Come on, Har, it's just us fellows here! Help an artist out!”

 

“Draw on my arms, Dean! Besides, you think I shave my legs like some bird?!”

 

“Oh look!” Blaise, who'd been paging through Parvati's _Witch Weekly_ , broke in, “Here's a good one Potter – _Find Out Which Famous Bachelor Is Your Perfect Match_!”

 

“There's a spell that painlessly vanishes body-hair; Pansy uses it all the time,” Theo informed them absently, attention fixed on Ron's white queen as he schemed his way to victory, thus missing the raised eyebrows from both Blaise and Seamus.

 

“See mate, hairy problem solved!”

 

“Potter, what's your favourite colour?”

 

“Draco knows the incantation too, for some odd reason.”

 

“No, and green.”

 

“Please mate!”

 

“Forest or Lime?”

 

“I bet Malfoy's legs are smooth as the day he was born, the ponce.”

 

 

“Please!”

 

Five minutes later Harry could be found lying in nothing but a pair of black briefs - “I refuse to _display_ myself to you lot!” - legs hairless and stinging slightly - “Painless _my arse!_ ” - calmly answering the questionnaire Blaise relayed in falsetto tones - “If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose?” - while a broadly-grinning Dean drew on said legs. Neville was wide awake by now, chuckling and commenting.

 

The boys fell around laughing when Blaise pompously informed the green-eyed boy that narcissism could only lead to a lonely life, turning the magazine to display his results – a full-page image of Harry himself.

 

“I always knew that I was the only one for me!” Harry proclaimed gravely, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, “Hand it over Blaise; you're next!”

 

The dark-skinned boy tossed the magazine at Harry, both now speaking in high-pitched voices as Harry asked the vapid questions and Blaise answered after “serious consideration”.Neville's photo filled the page at the end of the questionnaire and the boys once again roared with laughter as the “Famous Bachelor” in question tearfully informed Blaise that their love was not meant to be.

 

“I will always love you, my dear Neville!” Blaise declared dramatically, hands held over his heart, eyes wide. This caused another bout of guffaws and it was a while before the laughter petered out, though a snort or chuckle would escape one of the boys every-so-often.

 

The Slytherin and Gryffindor continued to page through the quiz section, taking turns to read the insipid questions. Harry soon learned that he was a full-blown “emo kid”, should avoid striped shirts, had a – ironically – bright green aura, and that, somehow, would never survive in the muggle world.

 

Blaise on the other hand, was advised to add lip gloss to his make-up bag, wear more yellow, cut down on listening to Celestina Warbeck if he ever wanted a boyfriend and stay inside on the 17 th  of each month for the next year.

 

“Can you believe this rubbish?! 'Your star sign will be in the dark on these days, a foreshadowing of bad luck'! Who writes this toss?!” the boy ranted, throwing the magazine back to Harry, who was now on his back, kicking Dean whenever the quill brushed over a ticklish spot.

 

“At least you didn't get told you're going die a violent death,” the messy-haired boy grumbled, grinning when his foot came too close to Dean's groin for comfort and sent the artist skittering back with a scowl.

 

“Was that the last one?” Neville asked, snatching up the magazine. He paged through it with disinterest, but lit up when an article caught his eye, “Listen to this: Party Games For a Successful Sleep-Over.”

 

“Probably a bunch of ways to gather gossip,” Ron commented, groaning the next moment when Theo managed to capture his rook.

 

“ _La_ _h_ -me,” was Blaise's contribution.

 

“Says the man with the fuchsia aura, braiding the Boy Saviour's hair,” Theo shot back dryly, smirking when said man scowled at him.

 

“Oh, is that why you keep tugging at my hair?” Harry asked lazily, left leg raised so he could inspect the “artwork” that covered it.

 

“Blaise is right, most of it is childish,” Neville continued as if interrupted, “but, at the bottom of the page is a section that seems to be charmed so that it can only be read by anyone older than sixteen -” he cleared his throat, then continued in a conspiratorial tone; “ _For our older readers – Bored of the usual party games? Feeling adventurous? Or, maybe you have a few handsome fellows joining you once the parents are a-bed? Well, then this for you!_ ”

 

“Ah, do carry on dear sir,” Blaise encouraged, interest peaked. Neville grinned, waiting until Seamus, who had finished his novel, had settled on the floor beside Dean.

 

“Alright, Game One – Truth Or Dare -”

 

“Played that one too many times, thank you very much,” Seamus murmured, studying Dean's work, ignoring Blaise's call for details.

 

Neville shrugged and continued on, not bothering with the short description, “Game Two – Spin The Potion Bottle -”

 

“That's old school,” Blaise muttered, “I thought these were new games?”

 

“Game Three – Two Truths and A Lie -”

 

“Grows old quick among friends,” Theo commented, chuckling as he moved a knight to block Ron's check-mate.

 

“Game Four – I Swear On My Wand I Have Never - “

 

“Good game,” Ron supplied, grinning as he captured Theo's knight, “but never play with the twins – unless you want to be scarred for life.” The red-head shuddered, missing Theo's winning move, then cursed. The others laughed, especially when a pawn began reprimanding the gaping Weasley.

 

“Ga-Game Four,” Neville choked, attempting, unsuccessfully, to bottle his laughter, “Confession -”

 

“Now, that,” Dean stated, looking up from where he was trying to trap Harry's bucking foot, “is a good game to eavesdrop on, but dangerous to play, even among friends.”

 

“Hear, hear,” Seamus agreed, a mean-looking smile spreading across his face. Only Theo noticed the way Ron paled.

 

“Game Five – Pig Out -”

 

“You need a board to play that,” Harry contributed, his voice becoming muffled in Blaise's belly as Dean coaxed him back onto his stomach, “I wouldn't suggest it for under-age kids; it can become quite... Risqué...”

 

“I wonder how the more stuck-up purebloods would feel if they realised that muggles have been playing these games for years,” Dean mentioned with a blasé smile, causing Blaise to squirm when Harry chuckled.

 

“They'd just deny it,” Neville pointed out, “Lastly, Game Six – Would You Rather?”

 

“Would You Rather?” Theo echoed, curious.

 

"A game of choice," Neville quoted, "Players form a circle. The host starts by asking any other player 'Would you rather...' followed by two related choices, for example; 'Would you rather wear a sunflower costume or your mother's pajamas?'. Once the player has answered, she is allowed to ask any other player a question. Players must choose one of the options. Alternatively, the players can choose to instate the penalty rule, where a player must perform a task if they refuse either option."

There was a moment of silence then;

"Hey, Neville, would you rather share a bed with Blaise or be stuck in Hermione's room?"

Neville snorted, “I'd rather spend a night with Handsy here than an hour in that -” he shuddered dramatically, “hell.”

 

“Hey! I resent that!” Blaise exclaimed, “I am _not_ handsy... What?”

 

The entire group had their eyes on him, brows raised.

 

“You _resemble_ it,” Harry dead-panned.

 

“I do not!”

 

“A minute ago you were _braiding_ Hare-bears hair!” Ron pointed out, waving away his best friends insults.

 

“How many times have either Draco or I woken up and discovered that you'd snuck into our beds?” Theo asked lightly, examining his nails.

 

“And really, I saw you cuddling up to _Pansy_ last night,” Dean added, prodding poor Harry's leg into an awkward position so he could draw on his inner thigh, “Damn,” he grumbled, flicking his quill when no more ink was forthcoming.

 

“Sea-”

 

“On it,” the Irishman cut him off, pushing himself to his feet and heading for the dorms. He hesitated in the entryway, “Wish me luck...”

 

A chorus of “good lucks” followed him up the stairs, along with a hiss of “whipped!”.

“So, Blaise, would you rather... Eat something George handed you, or drink something one of the girls handed you?” Neville asked, grinning.

 

The sable-skinned Slytherin grimaced, “Sweet Circe, why would I do either?! The former would probably turn me into something unnatural while the latter would most likely poison me or turn me into a lovesick Hufflepuff!”

 

Harry nodded vigorously (causing his “pillow” to bonk him on the back of the head- “that's ticklish you twat!”), having experienced both possibilities.

 

Blaise stilled, having had a thought, “You know, I think I'll go with option one – I heard that Padma was working on a brew that can switch a person's gender. I'd rather be a canary than a bird.”

 

Ron, who had been setting up a second chess board, squawked in alarm at the idea of growing tits and amusement at a female Blaise, toppling the board. Many of the pieces took the chance to flee, taking refuge underneath Harry's discarded jeans.

 

“You'd rather have feathers than tits?” Seamus stared at Blaise in disbelief, handing Dean his collection of inks as he sank down, resting his back against the couch Neville was still sprawled across.

 

“Blaisie-boy here is gynophobic,” Neville interjected shrewdly, “besides, he enjoys fondling his own cock so much he wouldn't know what to do with his hands if he had a vadge.”

 

This sent everyone – even the usually stoic Theodore Nott – into fits. Blaise glowered for a moment before it crumbled and he curled up, body shaking with choked guffaws. This of course meant that Harry's head was suddenly being squeezed between abs and thighs, and the Boy-Who-Lived began yelling and struggling, causing yet more hysterics.

 

Upstairs, the eighth year girls paused, Pansy halting her juicy, x-rated tale of romance and drama, to listen. Despite being at the very top of the tower, they could clearly hear the raucous laughter, which would peter out then suddenly start up again, louder than before. An exclamation of “Gynophobic!” made them all jump.

 

“Mad, the lot of them,” Hannah muttered to murmured agreements.

 


	2. And So It Carries On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for disclaimer.
> 
> The chapter titles are made up on the spot.

Twenty minutes later the howling finally let up, replaced by wheezing as the seven boys endeavoured to catch their breath. The occasional snicker would set off another volley of chortles, setting back their laborious efforts.

 

“Merlin's sack, I need a drink,” Harry panted, “Kreacher!”

 

A virtually-silent pop announced the arrival of the ancient house elf; “Yes, Mast- Master Harry! Are you well?”

 

The young man snorted, “I am fine, Kreach,” he reassured the agitated elf; ever since last year he'd become scarily-protective of Harry, “Just a bit out of breath. Would you mind bringing us a case of Butterbeer? There should be one in the pantry.”

 

Kreacher bowed, gave Harry a good once-over, before vanishing to do as bid.

 

“His apparation is silent?” Theo inquired, curious. All of the elves he'd encountered were usually announced by the distinctive crack of elf apparation.

 

“Virtually,” the inked boy corrected, rolling his eyes when Dean began urge him back into position, “It started when Andy and Teddy moved into Grimmauld once the renovations were done. He's surprisingly fond of Teddy and spoils him rotten. Does anything he can to keep that kid happy and healthy. The change in apparation is because cub's a light sleeper.”

 

Theo hummed, eyeing the elf when he reappeared and began handing out the drinks.

 

“Ta, Kreach,” the sable-haired boy tilted his bottle in a cheers before gulping half the contents in one go.

 

“So, Theo, would you rather be a house elf or... a sex slave?”

 

“Sex slave,” Theo answered without hesitation, all the while attempting to coax the chess pieces from their hiding place.

 

“Nympho,” Seamus muttered between coughs, causing Blaise to grin.

 

“Aw, only three months and you already know us so well!”

 

The Gryffindors all sent him blank looks, “It's a bit hard to miss when we have to listen to him every night,” Ron stated, grimacing.

 

“It's always the quiet ones,” Harry threw Theo a wink, smirking when the brunette flushed. A moment later all eyes turned to Neville.

 

“What?”

 

“Always the quiet ones,” Blaise echoed with a sly grin.

 

“Can't deny that,” was the Gryffindor's only answer and the Slytherins gaped while his fellow house-mates cracked up. He lifted his bottle in a mock salute before taking a drink.

 

“So, Dean, would you rather... Draw on Harry's arse -” Seamus ignored the aforementioned boy's sputtering, “or draw on Pansy's tits?”

 

The artist flushed a brilliant magenta and no one was able to understand his muttered reply.

 

“Sorry, didn't catch that,” Seamus nudged him, grinning.

 

“I said,” Dean gritted out, “I'd rather draw on Harry's arse.”

 

“Ah... And would that be because Pansy's one scary bint or...?” Harry drawled, not seeming fazed, and they all watched as Dean's flush darkened.

 

“Don't sweat it, Mr Virtuoso; I'd rather draw on Potter's arse too,” Blaise said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

 

Theo grinned, “Hey Potter, would you rather have Dean or Blaise drawing on your apparently sought-after rear?”

 

“My fellow Gryff, of course;” the human-canvas replied, “I shudder to think what Zabini would draw.”

 

“And you honestly think Dean would be less crude?” Ron challenged, brow raised. His best friend froze then waved an accusing finger at said artist,

 

“You are _not_ going anywhere _near_ my arse!” he exclaimed, frowning when Dean's face fell dramatically.

 

“Aw! Hare-bear!” he whined, a grin replacing his puppy-dog look when his reply was a deathly, Avada Kedavra-coloured glare.

 

“What is it with you lot and that atrocious name?!” he demanded.

 

“Would you rather be called Hare-bear or Boy Saviour?” Neville asked pointedly and the green-eyed teen sighed.

 

“In light of the alternative – Hare-bear,” he grumbled, his foot delivering a nasty kick to Seamus' leg when he cooed mockingly.

 

“Nice shot!” Blaise crowed as the Irishman folded in on himself; the kick having come to close to his crotch for comfort.

 

“Why, thank you, dear sir,” Harry responded with an imperious sniff.

 

“Would you rather fondle some other bloke's nuts or be kicked in your own?” Theo asked Seamus, his stoic mask having fallen away. Now, instead of a blank expression, his mouth was twisted with a sly smile and he no longer pretended to be listening with only half an ear.

 

The smile, however, quickly mutated to a dark glower when a black knight's horse – one of the few chess pieces he hadn't cajoled from underneath the Boy-Who-Lived's denims yet – sunk tiny, wooden teeth into his finger before he and his rider made a break for the nearest cover – the rat's-nest that Harry called hair.

 

Their increasingly crude game forgotten for a moment, five boys watched as the chess piece, horse and all, scrambled into the raven mess while the owner of said mess simply lay there, tilting his head slightly when the knight seemed to be struggling for a hold.

 

“Er... Does this happen often?” someone asked when the knight had successfully fought through the forest of sable hair and disappeared.

 

“More than you'd think,” Harry murmured distractedly, gently patting the bulge in his hair.

 

“It's always that piece,” Ron added, “think he has a thing for you, mate.”

 

“Right... How long is he going to stay in there?” Theo asked, still staring at the spot where a faint rustling could be seen, jumping when Harry yelped then tapped the knight chidingly.

 

“Oi, no tugging!”

 

“It'll be a while; he's getting comfortable,” the red-head advised, retrieving an oblong box from the rather gaudy bag he kept his chess sets in, “Which is why I always carry a spare black knight. And a white rook.”

 

“Where does the rook hide?” Neville inquired curiously, having never witnessed this phenomenon before. Harry grinned and Ron's face coloured.

 

“Oh, the little blighter prefers to use Hermione's blouse for shelter,” the grinning teen informed them.

 

“Ah... And how did you discover this?”

 

“Harry and I were playing one night when Crookshanks made an appearance. The knight went for Harry, the other pieces dived for my chair and the rook made a break for Hermione and managed to burrow under her blouse... We thought it was a once off thing but when she and I played next we were halfway through a game when we realised he was missing...”

 

“I think you've had that set a few years too long, Weasley,” Theo told him bluntly while the others crowed.

 

“You're telling me? There have been days when that damned knight heads for that holy mess the moment I open this bag!”

 

“You don't seem too bothered,” Seamus noted, eyeing his house mate, who did indeed seem content to have a chess piece ensconced within his mane, calmly reminding the horse it wasn't a field to be grazed on.

 

“Eh,” was his only reply. Blaise, Dean, Seamus and Neville continued to stare at their fellow eighth year, bewildered, while Theo and Ron busied themselves with their dual boards.

 

“Hey, Seamus, you never answered Nott's question,” the Gryffindor chess player remarked once the pair had started their dual game, new knight and all.

 

“Oh, right,” the resident pyromaniac muttered, “What was it?”

 

“Fondle another bloke's balls or be kicked in your own,” Dean reminded him, shuffling across the rug to reach one of his human-canvas' arms.

 

“That's a no-brainer, ain't it? I'd _suck_ balls before willingly submitting myself to that agony!”

 

“ Mine or Theo's?” Blaise shot back.

 

“You know, I'm sure this isn't what the columnist had in mind,” Neville mumbled.

 

“I'm far too sober for this shit,” Seamus lamented to the general amusement of the room, glaring at his  half-drunk  B utterbeer accusingly.

 

It was at this moment  that Draco Malfoy stumbled through the portrait hole, clutching a variety of bottles to his chest.

 

“Summoned by Merlin himself, the answer to your prayers Seam;” Harry cried, “Draco Malfoy, the bringer of liquor!”

 

The blonde, regaining his footing, swept grey orbs across the room.

 

“What in Salazar's name -?”

 

To be fair, the group made quite the picture – Blaise lay spread-eagled on the rug before the fireplace; Harry's head rested on the ebony-skinned Slytherin's stomach, the majority of his body covered in ink; Dean clutched his house-mate's arm in one hand, quill in the other; Neville sprawled on the couch against which Seamus rested, his legs draped over Harry's, Ron and Theo were bent over two chess boards, muttering to the confused pieces.

 

“We're having a slumber party,” Theo enlightened the new arrival, “and you are now obligated to share your loot.”

 

“I knew I should have hidden the bottles,” Draco grumbled, but moved to join them nonetheless, taking a seat beside Blaise. A wave of his hand conjured tumblers into existence and he obligingly began to fill them with Firewhiskey.

 

“So,” he started once the last two glasses were levitated to the chess players, “if this is a slumber party, what game are we playing?”

 

“Catches on fast, doesn't he?” Harry teased, before quickly explaining the rule – there was, after all, just the one – of “Would You Rather”.

 

“Alright, just one question...”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“ _Why_ is there a black knight in your hair?”

 

“I've adopted him” was the blithe answer, “Now, I believe Blaise asked Seamus whose sack he'd rather suck.”

 

“I can see why alcohol is required.”

 

Seamus was considering his options; “Nott,” he said eventually, “At least I know he's anal about personal hygiene.”

 

“Hey, I'll have you know, I take good care of my boys!”

 

“I'm sure you do,” Neville commented wryly, “Why else would you spend half an hour in the shower every morning?”

 

““Wanker” will never be an insult to you, will it?” Harry asked his pillow, with a smirk.

 

“I resent that,” Blaise protested.

 

“You resemble that!” was a call that could be heard from Hermione's room.

 

“So, Malfoy, seeing as you've just joined us and been kind enough to bestow unto us the gift of spirits, why don't you ask the next round?” Dean offered, not looking up from where he was inscribing intricate scales onto a snake that curled up Harry's arm.

 

Draco tilted his head in thanks, studying their motley group carefully.

 

Finally he seemed to come to a decision; “Weasley, would you rather walk in on Potter wanking or your sister having sex?”

 

Theo blinked, his face suddenly coated in Firewhiskey, “Well, _t_ _hat_ was uncalled for.”

 

“Say what?”

 

“Potter wanking or the tiniest Weasley getting it on?”

 

“Why do you lot keep dragging me into these scenarios?”

 

“It's because we love you!”

 

“Bull.”

 

“Weasley, we're waiting.”

 

“Sweet Circe,” Ron rubbed a hand over his face, “neither of those options are favourable, but I suppose, if I have to choose, I'd rather see my best friend jerking off than walk in on my sister... Ugh!” he shuddered violently, nearly upending one of the chess tables for a second time.

 

“Have you?” Blaise asked, curious.

 

“Which?”

 

“Both?”

 

“Hey,” Harry interjected, “I'll have you know I'm very proficient with sticking and silencing charms!”

 

Neville nodded, “He is,” he agreed, “So good Ron and Hermione were stuck on Ron's bed for hours last time our resident matchmakers struck.”

 

“Said resident matchmakers being?”

 

“Seamus and Harry, naturally.”

 

“Naturally.”

 

Ron accepted a refill from Draco, taking a sip as he considered his question.

 

“Zabini, after a rough night of pub-hopping, would you rather wake up naked beside Malfoy or... Lavender Brown?”

 

“Draco,” was the immediate answer, “I shudder to think what manner of diseases that girl is home to!”

 

Unsurprisingly, no one protested on behalf of the Gryffindor girl; it was common knowledge that, after her break-up with Ron, the girl had become what Molly Weasley would call a scarlet woman, bouncing from boy to boy. Her fellow house mates had tried to stage an intervention at first, but, after she had started going after their boyfriends (or girlfriend, in Fay Dunbar's case) in a twisted sort of retaliation, they backed off.

 

The eight boys sat in silence for a moment, thinking about the girl that had been so sweet in her earlier years then suddenly becoming the talk of Hogwarts thanks to her not-at-all secret escapades. Ron was wondering if it was his fault, even though both Harry and the girls often assured him it wasn't.

 

“So... Longbottom... Would you rather spend a week sleeping in the Slytherin dorms or three sleeping in Hagrid's cabin?”

 

“Hagrid's cabin,” Neville answered after a moment's thought, “No offence to you snakes, but I wouldn't be able to spend a week sleeping underground.”

 

“I don't blame you,” Draco muttered, “not only is it underground, it's damp and cold too.”

 

“The cabin is rather comfy too, 'specially in the winter,” Harry contributed.

 

“Definitely Hagrid's,” Neville re-iterated.

 

“Though, I wouldn't mind spending some more time in that common room.”

 

“It had a certain... atmosphere, didn't it?” Ron agreed.

 

“Wait a moment, when were you two, the _personifications_ of all that is Light and Gryffindor, in the Slytherin Common Room?” Draco demanded.

 

“Second year,” Harry muttered, distracted by the contemplation of which spirit to fill his glass with next – Selven's Elven Brandy or an exotic Vampire cane that must have cost Draco a fortune.

 

“You even let us in,” Ron informed him smugly.

 

“I certainly did _not_!” the blond protested.

 

“You certainly did; Christmas day, you let Crabbe and Goyle into the Common Room after they forgot the password.”

 

Draco opened his mouth to voice his dissent then paused.

 

“I thought they seemed a bit odd,” he conceded eventually.

 

“And all these years, you never knew,” Harry grinned.

 

“You sneaks!” Theo laughed, “How in Salazar's name did you pull that off?!”

 

“Polyjuice,” Ron said, as if it was obvious, “'Mione brewed it.”

 

“She was twelve!”

 

“She's brilliant, that one,” Harry stated with a smile, sounding like a proud brother.

 

“She's the reason these two lumps are still alive and mostly intact,” Seamus supplied, sighing when Dean insisted he go fetch yet another bottle of ink – “I need that exact shade of green or this will look like some amateur's attempt at art!”

 

“Alright, I'm going, I'm going! Sheesh!”

 

“You've got him well-trained,” Theo commented with a sly grin as they watched the sandy-haired boy trudge up the stairs, earning himself a rather vulgar gesture.

 

“Dean,” Harry started, “would you rather have Seamus or Theo as your sex slave?”

 

The artist coughed violently, having just taken a gulp of brandy and inhaled it instead of swallowed.

 

“What is it with you and sex slaves?!” he sputtered once he could breathe.

 

“I like the idea,” the raven-haired teen shrugged with one shoulder.

 

“It would be awfully creepy to have Seamus as a sex slave,” the artist said after some deliberation, “and Nott here may actually enjoy it.”

 

Theo pretended to preen, “Oh, I am so honoured.”

 

“What's the nympho honoured by?” Seamus asked as he re-entered the Common Room, causing the group to laugh.

 

“I was asked who I'd prefer as a sex slave; you or Nott. I said Nott.”

 

The Irishman gasped theatrically, clutching at his chest, “The rejection! It breaks my heart!”

 

Suddenly the teen affected a bitch pose; “What does this Slytherin SOB have that I don't?!” he demanded in a strident voice that sounded strangely like Pansy Parkinson's.

 

This naturally, sent his audience into yet another round of fits.

 

'My dear Seamus,” Dean choked, “It's only because I desire a more meaningful relationship with you!”

 

“Oh, Dean!”

 

“Seamus!”

 

The pair fell upon each other like star struck lovers, causing yet more hilarity.

 

“ _What_ is going on down here?!” the shrill cry instantly silenced the sniggers and all eight boys slowly turning toward the staircase. Standing there, hands on her hips and glaring disapprovingly, was Hermione Granger. Sadly, the sight of her, instead of inciting fear and shame as she had obviously intended, caused the boys to glance at one another then fall about laughing again.

 

“Excuse me! I asked a question, I didn't make a joke! What are you lot doing down here?!”

 

“I-It's not you, 'Mione!” Harry finally managed to pant.

 

“Yeah, just... just an inside joke between us blokes,” Ron huffed.

 

“And what joke would that be?” she demanded, eyes narrowed dangerously.

 

“You wouldn't get it,” Blaise told her with a straight face, before dissolving into giggles, the others not far behind.

 

“Well, whatever you bunch of lunatics are doing, stop it, it's disturbing our girl time!”

 

This shut the male eighth years up.

 

“ _Excuse me?_ Disturbing _you_?” Neville challenged disbelievingly, “ _Us_ , disturbing _your_ slumber party?”

 

“It's not a slumber party, but yes!”

 

“You do realize that half the boys have fled to Hogsmead?” Theo pointed out.

 

Hermione glowered, “And?”

 

“Your giggling, shrieking and incessant whispering disturbed them.”

 

“We aren't -!”

 

Hermione's protest was cut off by a perfectly timed volley of high-pitched, girlish laughter. As one, every one of the guys arched an eyebrow.

 

“Well... But... We... Every five minutes we're subjected to your bellowing laughter!” the bushy-haired girl sputtered out, wincing slightly when a shriek of “Oh, how naughty!” drifted down the stairs.

 

“I think you're missing one of Pansy's erotic tales, Granger,” Draco said lightly, smirking when the young woman blushed.

 

“You know,” Harry drawled, “If our “raucous” laughter is bothering you ladies, why didn't you just put up a silencing charm? Or are the little lassies curious as to _why_ we're laughing?”

 

Hermione found herself on the scary end of eight smirks.

 

“Of course not!” she asserted, though her cheeks remained rosy.

 

“Naturally they'd be inquisitive,” Blaise teased, “They're up there, trying to imagine what could be so funny.”

 

“We are not!”

 

“They probably think we're down here, taking part in the male variant of gossiping,” Theo imparted.

 

“And now they've sent down their most intimidating interrogator to wrangle the nasty details out of us,” Dean continued knowingly.

 

“They must have completely plucked their own grapevine and now they need a new one,” Seamus hummed, scrutinizing the third person of the “Golden Trio” closely.

 

“Ugh! I'm going back upstairs!” she spat, turning on her heel, “Keep it down, would you!”

 

“Harry could do the Silencing Charm if you don't feel up to it!” Ron called after her meaningfully.

 

“Women!” Blaise, Neville, Harry and Theo muttered when she had vanished from sight.

 

“Always on our tails,” Ron grumbled, taking a swig of Firewhiskey before ordering a pawn to Theo's end of the board.

 

“Would you rather put up with her nagging or break up with her?” Dean asked deliberately, grinning when the ginger-haired boy sighed.

 

“We all know the answer to that question,” Draco murmured with a smile.

 

“She has her moments,” Ron defended, always the perfect boyfriend.

 

“Don't they all?”


	3. Still Going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for disclaimer.

“Hey, Weasley, would you rather participate in a threesome with Hermione and another guy or watch her and another girl mess around?”

 

“Is sex all you think about?!”

 

“That, food and chess,” the usually-quiet Slytherin shrugged.

 

“My word, Theodore Nott, I never knew you could be so wicked!”

 

“Always the quiet ones,” Harry quoted his earlier words sagely.

 

“So?” Theo directed at Ron.

 

“Be in the same bed with a naked dude? Not a chance! I'd rather sit and watch 'Mione.”

 

“Do you think she'd do something so kinky?” Dean asked cynically, “I mean; she's pretty much a straight-arrow.”

 

“I'm sure a few shots of this cane would loosen her inhibitions,” Blaise suggested with a wink.

 

“Are you suggesting I get my future fiancé drunk just so I can take advantage of her?”

 

“When you put it like that; no. _Don't_ do that,” Blaise amended quickly, startled by Ron's sudden ire.

 

“Let's move on to safer topics, shall we?” Neville suggested.

 

“Right,” Harry, aware of how quickly Ron's temper could rise – much like his own, turned his head to look at Draco, “Drake, would you rather... spend the night of the full moon in the Shrieking Shack, or a day in the Forbidden Forest?”

 

The blonde scoffed, “Trick question, Potter; everyone knows the Shack isn't really haunted.”

 

The green-eyed inquisitor shared a grin with his red-haired friend, “During the day, maybe.”

 

Draco eyed them suspiciously, “Be that as it may, I'd rather spend a night in that building than an _hour_ in the Forest.”

 

“I can't blame him;” Ron muttered, shuddering, “the things we've seen in there.”

 

“That _thing_ that was feeding on the unicorns,” the Slytherin murmured, the fear and revulsion evident in his voice and expression.

 

“That was Quirell and Voldemort,” Harry enlightened him, almost casually.

 

“How in Merlin's name can you be so blasé about it?” Seamus probed. The Boy Saviour shrugged.

 

“I guess I got used to it. After having to fight against that monster for most my life, I think I became immune to the horrors he presented.”

 

There was a moment of silence, then Dean cleared his throat meaningfully.

 

“Zabini, would you rather have to have cold showers for the rest of your life or have to share a bath with Loony-” enraged hisses from Harry, Neville and Ron meant he corrected himself post-haste, “I mean _Luna_ Lovegood for the rest of your life?”

 

“Does it have to be sexual?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I'd take the bath then; she's an interesting girl.”

 

“That she is,” Neville agreed with a love-sick smile, causing his friends to grin.

 

“You and the Ravenclaw?” Blaise asked.

 

“Yeah, since the battle. Don't think it'll last much longer though.”

 

“You don't seem too upset?” Theo observed, bemused.

 

“It's Luna,” Harry said, as if that explained it all – and to those who knew her, it did.

 

“She's a free-spirit,” Neville elaborated, again, as if that made it all clear. Blaise understood though.

 

“You're a lucky man, Longbottom; with that girl “let's be friends” ain't no sad joke.”

 

“They'll probably become the best of friends after their parting,” Seamus noted, smiling.

 

“She really is an odd one, isn't she?” Draco said without any malice, and Harry could have sworn he heard a note of admiration in his tone.

 

“Brilliant, but odd,” Harry agreed.

 

“Hey, Potter,” Theo started, prodding a knight to capture Ron's bishop, “would you rather have the latest broom but only be allowed to play Keeper in Quidditch, or have to play Seeker with a, say, decade old broom?”

 

“The latter,” the Gryffindor grunted, in the midst of a silent, yet violent, battle with Dean, who was attempting to bend his arm into an impossible position.

 

“Just flip onto your stomach, why don't you?” Draco finally burst out, annoyed by the tussle that had nearly bumped over an open bottle of expensive White Merlot.

 

The wrestling pair stopped dead, glanced at one another, at the blond, back to the other, then, without a word, Dean released Harry's arm and moved to his other side while the raven-haired teen got comfortable, his head now cushioned on Draco's thigh instead of Blaise abdomen.

 

“Gryffindors,” the Slytherin's sighed as one.

 

“Harry would still whip Slytherin's arse at Quidditch, decade-old broom or not,” Ron stated smugly, ignoring the strange interlude.

 

“As much as it pains me,” Draco conceded, “That is true.”

 

“Aw, that's so sweet of you to admit,” Harry cooed, chuckling when that earned himself a cuff across the ear. No one saw fit to comment when delicate fingers sunk into the inky-black mane or when the owner of said mane began _purring_ as blunt nails scratched gently. The pair's relationship was vastly different from that before the war and, though they still hackled one another constantly, they seemed to have come to some sort of agreement.

 

“Would you rather be Seeker or a Chaser?” Neville asked next, looking at the blonde.

 

“Chaser. I only became Seeker at Lucius' insistence,” Draco admitted, “If we were allowed to play this year I would have tried for Chaser, let Tracey Davis take her rightful position.”

 

“We should organise a few mock matches,” Dean suggested, looking up from where he was adding stunning detail to the snake's head, “Nothing too serious, pick random teams, no House divisions.”

 

“There should be enough players for at least two teams,” Ron mumbled after a moment's contemplation, his mind suddenly working over the proposal, “Plus a few reserves.”

 

“We could mix the teams up every few games,” Draco offered, “That could give us at least four or five possible teams.” Caught up in plans and ideas, the blonde's fingers halted their movements against Harry's scalp. He sniggered when an annoyed growl alerted him to this.

 

“You could do a draw to determine the teams a week or two before a game; giving them time to practise and get used to one another's style of play,” was Neville's contribution.

 

“And for people like Drake, we could do multiple try-outs, see who can play which positions. That'll diversify the games even more,” Harry added.

 

“It could actually work,” Seamus murmured.

 

“Sweet mother of Morgana, Theo, now you've gotten them started!” Blaise lamented.

 

“Hush, you,” Ron told him, “the big boys are thinking.”

 

“What have I done?” Theo gasped in mock horror, beaming when five birds were flipped his way.

 

Thankfully for Blaise and Theo – and, to some degree, Neville – the Quidditch talk came to a halt after the five boys had agreed to present the idea to the former and prospective players the next day.

 

“Thank Godric!” Blaise grumbled.

 

“Look what you've done!” Theo laughed, “Driven poor Blaisie-boy to blasphemy!”

 

“Hey, would you rather listen to us wax lyrical about Quidditch or have to listen to Pansy's tales of love and sex?” Dean challenged.

 

“I could do with a good erotic tale,” Blaise joked.

 

“One day, in a far away land,” Draco began, laughing when the dark-skinned boy swiftly called his bluff.

 

“Hey, Malfoy, would you rather be forced to tell a racy story that'll have the ladies wetting their knickers or have a stranger tell your parents one based on the kinkiest of your own exploits?”

 

“That's a difficult one; would they know I'm the star of the carnal adventure being told?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then I'd rather be forced to create an amorous fantasy for the ladies,” he paused for a beat, “wouldn't want to give my mother a heart attack.”

 

“How is the Lady Malfoy?” Harry inquired out of the blue.

 

“She is well, thank you for asking,” Draco replied.

 

“That's wonderful to hear.”

 

The rest of the group rolled their eyes; these random interludes were a regular occurrence.

 

“So, Finnigan, would you rather spend an entire day on a broom in winter or never fly again?”

 

Seamus didn't hesitate; “As long as I'm allowed to keep moving, I'd rather spend 24 hours up in the air than never get on a broom again.”

 

The flyers in the room hissed at the very thought of never flying again. Neville and Theo didn't seem too fazed.

 

“Say, Hare-bear, would you rather have all these drawings as permanent tattoos you could never glamour or get a Prince Albert?”

 

“A what?” Ron asked.

 

“A metal rod through your cock,” Theo clarified without censure, causing most of the group to wince.

 

“I'm not sure,” Harry frowned, “But probably the tats; wouldn't want to risk possible infection...”

 

“And if you were assured that no infection would take hold?” Theo quizzed.

 

“Then, maybe, I'd consider the piercing,” Harry allowed, “Depends on the quality of Dean's artwork.”

 

Said artist snarled, insulted, and Harry yelped when the tip of Dean's quill dug into his skin.

 

“Easy there, I was kidding!”

 

Draco calmed the irate teens, yet again, with a few soothing words and soon Harry lay quietly while Dean moved to his other arm.

 

Nudging his head against Draco's hand as a hint, Harry ruminated on his next pair of choices.

 

“Blaise; would you rather be able to hear every vaguely sexual thought any person in the same room as you thinks, or have your every dream published in the Witch Weekly?”

 

“The former – could be interesting.”

 

“Even a professor's fantasies?”

 

“Oh Merlin, imagine having to listen to Slughorn perv over his students!”

 

“Still, I think it would be enlightening.”

 

“Or scarring.”

 

“Would you rather have to hear the students' sexual fantasies or the professors'?” Blaise shot back at the green-eyed boy.

 

“Oh, that's a difficult one...”

 

“How can that possibly be a formidable choice?” Ron asked.

 

“Well; if it were the students, there'd been a chance I might stumble upon some fan-girl's – or fan-boy's – vividly suggestive fantasies about myself. If it were the professors I might just learn something that would make it impossible to face them,” he explained simply.

 

“Touché.”

 

“But, I think I'll go with the professors. Oh, the blackmail!” Oddly, he and Draco rubbed their hands together in a parody of an evil genius.

 

“Are you sure no one's performed some sort of telepathic spell on you two?”

 

“No-”

 

“-pe.”

 

“Creepy,” Neville reiterated.

 

“You're just jealous,” Harry countered in a childish tone, going as far as to stick his tongue out at his friend.

 

Neville took one look at the raven-haired boy, arched a condescending eyebrow, then turned to Theo, “Would you rather spend a day stuck in your own day-dreams or in your crush's day-dreams?'

 

“I don't have a “crush”, so the answer is obviously the former. Even if I did though, I'd still rather spend a day day-dreaming.”

 

“How so?” Seamus asked.

 

“Well, just imagine that the person you have feelings for has the hots for someone else. Would you want to spend an entire day watching their day-dreams? Besides,” a salacious grin lit his features, “I control my day-dreaming.”

 

“He has a point.”

 

“Hey, Weasley, would you rather swallow your pride and allow yourself to be dominated in bondage or agree to take part in a role playing situation without knowing what it may be?”

 

“Bondage?”

 

“Sweet Lord, Ron! I swear, how innocent _are_ you?!” Harry exclaimed.

 

“And how would _you_ know what it is?” Draco quizzed slyly.

 

“Found Sirius' old magazine collection. Interesting articles in those.”

 

“So, what is it?”

 

“Consensual restraining to heighten the pleasure of one or both partners. It can be part of a larger BDSM experience,” Theo explained, his words seemingly regurgitated from a textbook.

 

“And what, exactly is “BDSM”?” By this time Ron's face matched his hair but he soldiered on.

 

“Bondage and Discipline, Domination and Submission and Sadomasochism.”

 

The red-head had now forgone red and was a lovely wine colour.

 

“Why would anyone enjoy _that_?!”

 

“Some people feel oppressed in their daily life and turn to Domination for sexual release, while others carry too much responsibility and therefore turn to Submission,” Dean explained.

 

“Some people turn to BDSM for nothing but the rigid rules and routines,” Harry added wisely, “Their lives may be too hectic or they can't deal with the freedom they have.”

 

“And some just get a kick out of being dominated, submitted to, hurting others or being hurt.”

 

“But... Doesn't that mean this BDSM shit is dangerous?” Ron squeaked.

 

“It can be,” Blaise agreed, “But there are institutions that specialise in offering controlled BDSM experiences to their clients. They have strict rules and all their clients and employees are screened thoroughly.”

 

“And most couples who decide to explore things like bondage do their research and establish rules before they dive in,” Neville supplied.

 

“Anything less would be practically criminal.”

 

“And the Sadomasochism thing? What's that about?”

 

“Possibly the most precarious aspects of that lifestyle – sadomasochism refers to gaining pleasure by inflicting pain on others or having pain inflicted on yourself.”

 

It seemed no further account of that aspect was needed because the Gryffindor shuddered, “The bondage, dominant/submissive thing seems okay but I would never agree to Sadomasochism.”

 

“Very few people do.”

 

“Alright, back to Theo's question; I take it this would be with someone I trust? Like Hermione?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“And I'd have no idea what the role play may be?”

 

“Nope, you'd be going in blind.”

 

“I think I'll take the submission. I love Hermione but her imagination can be a little... wild. Besides, the bondage could be interesting.”

 

Just how interesting Ron may find bondage became obvious when he “subtly” shifted so that one of the chess tables obscured his lower half and his fading flush returned with a vengeance when the other teens sniggered.

 

“Shush, you'd all be in the same predicament! Neville, would you rather have your big toe sucked or suck someone else's toe?”

 

Theo, Dean and Seamus all  heav ed at the mention of toe-suckery. 

 

“Why would you do either?!” Blaise gagged.

 

“Never had your toe sucked?” Ron asked, “I thought you've done everything that's considered even slightly kinky?”

 

“Never that!”

 

“It can be arousing,” Draco affirmed, “depends on how open one is to sexual experiences. If you're at all squeamish about feet it might sicken you but, if not, it can induce a lot of pleasure.”

 

“Ginny coaxed me into trying it once,” Harry disclosed, “Didn't do anything for me but she seemed to like it. It goes without saying that this took place after a shower on _both_ our parts.”

 

Being an older brother, Ron grimaced, “Too much information, mate!”

 

“Never!”

 

“Hold on a moment,” Dean interrupted, “You and Ginny haven't gotten back together yet?”

 

The dark-haired Gryffindor froze, “Yeah? And?”

 

“And, isn't she dating some Slytherin?”

 

“Yeees?”

 

“So, when exactly did this “experiment” take place?”

 

Harry gulped, glancing at Ron, “Sixth year?”

 

“ _Our_ sixth year?”

 

“Uh, maybe?”

 

“ _HARRY!_ ”

 

The owner of said name shot up from the floor, fleeing for the exit so fast he was a colourful blur. Moments later both chess tables were sent flying as Ginny's older brother barrelled after him.

 

“I'm going to murder you!” could be heard three corridors away.

 


	4. Drawing To A Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for disclaimer.

Thankfully for Harry, Ron and the general school populace, the eighth year dorms were in one of the quieter sections of the castle and the only people they ran into were fellow eighth years Terry Boot, Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein, who took one look at the pair and promptly turned on their heels and walked back the way they'd come.

 

Thankfully for _Harry_ , the sight of their dorm mates scurrying away like frightened mice revived his peruser's sense of humour and when Ron caught him a corridor later the worst he got was was a rough noogie.

 

“It didn't go further, right?” the taller of the duo asked awkwardly as the strolled back toward the Common Room.

 

“Beyond a bit of snogging and fondling? No.” Harry answered honestly.

 

Ron grimaced but his curiosity seemed to outweigh his discomfort, “Why?”

 

His friend shot him a hesitant grin, “She was fifteen, mate, do you honestly think I'd let it go any further?”

 

“And?”

 

The raven-haired teen snorted, “Hermione's right, y'know; you can be damn perceptive if you want.”

 

“So there is more?”

 

“Yeah, there's more.”

 

“So?”

 

Harry shifted, uncomfortable.

 

“Mate? Harry?”

 

“I...”

 

“There they are!”

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Dean and Blaise popped their heads round the portrait. Ron seemed to understand that this was neither the time nor the place and let it be, bounding forward, nearly causing a collision.

 

“Mate! Look at this!” he exclaimed, “They finished the Firewhiskey! We were only gone a few minutes!”

 

The green-eyed boy raced into the room, “Tell me it ain't so!” he swept the undeniably-empty bottle off the floor, “Oh, Odgens; I knew him well!”

 

“I reckon the ink's going to his head,” Theo stage-whispered when said inked boy smacked a kiss against the bottle.

 

“Or it's just his familiarity with the contents of that bottle,” Draco supplied in a normal tone, drawing Harry's attention to himself.

 

“Drake! Well, at least my pillow saw fit to remain in his place,” he huffed, flopping down on the floor, wriggling around until he was comfortable – and until Dean deemed his position suitable.

 

“Now that we've all returned to our rightful places,” Neville said with the air of one dealing with immature children, “I believe Ronald asked me a question.”

 

“Oh yes,” Blaise screwed up his face, “The toe sucking thing.”

 

“I think I'd rather have mine sucked; I think I'd keep wondering when last my partner gave their feet a good scrubbing...”

 

Seamus gagged, “Lovely image, thanks for that.”

 

“Why would anyone do that?” Dean reiterated, “It sounds revolting.”

 

“It feels similar to a blow job,” Draco shared.

 

“After someone's cast a Numbing Charm on your cock.”

 

“If it feels so good, why didn't it do it for you?” Theo demanded of Harry.

 

“Maybe it was because I'm not really into feet?” the latter suggested.

 

“Did you enjoy doing it to Ginny?”

 

“I did, to a degree.”

 

“Would you do it now?”

 

“No; you've all been wearing socks all day! Can you imagine how sweaty those toes are?!”

 

Dean and Seamus promptly began dry heaving.

 

“And if someone were to cast a Cleaning Charm and Refreshing Charm on their feet?”

 

Harry frowned, “Why on earth would I do that?”

 

“To prove that it can be enjoyable?”

 

Suddenly the raven-haired boy grinned, “Fine, but I choose whose toe I suck.”

 

Those in the group who found the idea repulsive became edgy but they had no say in the matter because it was Neville who spoke next; “Deal.”

 

“Alright...” Harry grinned as his companions shifted uncomfortably, “Theo.”

 

“Oh, _hell no_!” the pale-skinned Slytherin protested, “You are not doing _that_ to _me_!”

 

“On the contrary, I am.”

 

“Come on Nott, be a sport,” Ron wheedled.

 

“I thought you were the nympho among us?” Neville pressed.

 

“I -”

 

“You can't claim to be a nymphomaniac if you won't even let Harry suckle on your toe.”

 

The teen hissed, “Fine!” He quickly pulled off his footwear and cast the appropriate charms – twice. He watched nervously as Harry lifted himself onto his hands and knees, moving towards Theo almost seductively, taking one of the Slytherin's feet in his hands.

 

“Just relax.”

 

He didn't get a chance to voice any further protests because the next moment a warm mouth engulfed his toe and his eyes nearly rolled right into the back of his head when Harry's tongue swiped the top of his toe. Draco was right – it did feel very nearly like a blow job.

 

The experience didn't last long as Harry pulled away a minute later, winking at the wide-eyed boy before returning to his place, accepting a glass of cane from Draco.

 

“How was it?”

 

“Uhhh...”

 

“I think you broke him,” Blaise murmured. It took more than a few minutes before Theo pulled himself together, in which time Ron won both chess games _and_ reset the boards.

 

Xxx

 

It was quiet in the Common Room. Not silent, but quieter than it had been for a while. Neville and Blaise were discussing Herbology and it's relation to Potions and Defence Against The Dark Arts, with Seamus chipping in every now and then. Dean had now reached Harry's right wrist and was studying the unmarked skin, mentally considering designs and discarding them. Harry himself still lay with his head in Draco's lap and the pair conversed in low voices, chuckling whenever the knight still sequestered in the green-eyed teen's hair popped up to contribute to their conversation. Ron and Theo were now firmly entrenched in their games and debating whether to add yet another board.

 

“Hey, Potter, would you rather be an Auror or a Hit Wizard?” Blaise asked suddenly, curious.

 

“Hit Wizard.”

 

“I thought you had a shoe-in for the Auror Department?”

 

“I did, but I changed my mind.”

 

“He realised how many rules he'd have to follow if he became an Auror,” Ron supplied.

 

“Ah, that explains a lot,” Theo hummed, smirking.

 

“Not true!” Harry protested.

 

“It is and you know it,” Draco scoffed, smiling when Harry huffed.

 

“Harry would grow bored as an Auror,” Neville said wisely.

 

“Bored? How in the name of Merlin would you get _bored_?”

 

“Paperwork, slow case load, etcetera. As a Hit Wizard he'd have a back-to-back case load, and none of those “an old lady swears someone keeps wondering into her yard” cases. And better yet; no paperwork.”

 

“How's that figure?”

 

“As a Hit Wizard you work with a partner, with both working underneath a handler; the agents do the grunt work, the handler does the paperwork,” Harry explained, hissing when Dean's quill skated over a sensitive spot on his wrist.

 

“I feel sorry for whoever ends up assigned as _your_ handler,” Theo mused, finally finding his voice.

 

“That's if I get in.”

 

“Why wouldn't you?” Blaise asked.

 

“My name means nothing there,” the dark-haired boy supplied, smiling at Ron, who'd muttered that Harry just loved that – no sarcasm intended, “and the Auror training can't hold a candle to the hell applicants have to go through. Not just physical, but the mental too.”

 

“You'd make it,” Draco commented blithely, flushing slightly when Harry beamed at him.

 

Blaise's question sparked another round of the game; though this time, in spite of (or maybe because of) the amount of alcohol they had consumed, the choices remained relatively tame -

 

“Would you rather wear a dress for a day or wear Weasley's fourth year dress robes to formal functions for the rest of the year?

 

“ _Hey!”_

 

“ _Dress, I'd rather wear a dress!”_

 

“ _Hey!”_

 

“Would you rather be mute or have Tourette's?”

 

“ _Tourette's! Can you imagine the fun you can have with that?! And hey, if I lose it with an “adoring fan” I can blame it on the Tourette's!”_

 

_The teens laughed when Harry's eyes glazed over as he imagined the possibilities, cursing a moment later when Draco bopped him on the forehead and reminded him that he had to be nice to the adoring masses._

 

“Would you rather spend a week just listening to Celestina Warbeck or Binns?”

 

“ _Warbeck, definitely.”_

 

“ _Binns may just bore you to death!”_

 

“Eat the same thing every day for the rest of your life or have to eat foreign cuisine?”

 

“ _Do I get a choice in what foreign cuisine I get?”_

 

“ _Nope, it'd be random.”_

 

“ _Hmm... Probably the latter anyway”_

 

“ _What if you get something like lamb testes?”_

 

“ _... Thanks for that.”_

 

“ _Always a pleasure.”_

 

“Would you rather have a House Elf that worships the ground you walk on or one who despises you?”

 

“ _Well, that's redundant; the former!”_

 

“ _Oh, believe me, the latter may be better.”_

 

“ _Uh?”_

 

“ _Remember Dobby?”_

 

“ _Yeah?”_

 

“ _That elf adored me and almost got me killed trying to “save” me in second year.”_

 

“ _Ah...”_

 

“Would you rather be rich and lonely or poor but famous and surrounded by adoring fans?”

 

“ _What would I be famous for that wouldn't have made me rich?”_

 

“ _I don't know, just answer the damn question.”_

 

“ _I'd choose to be rich and lonely.”_

 

“ _Oh?”_

 

“ _I've seen Harry run away from fans too many times to consider it.”_

 

“Would you rather work with kids or the elderly?”

 

“ _Kids, no doubt about that.”_

 

“ _Ugh, why?!”_

 

“ _I love kids; they're the most honest people you meet.”_

 

“ _Right.”_

 

“ _Then again, I never knew Draco as a child...”_

 

“ _Hey!”_

 

“Would you rather wear a diaper or have to run to the lavatory every five minutes?”

 

“ _Would it be guaranteed that there's a bathroom around?”_

 

“ _No.”_

 

“ _Diaper!”_

 

“Would you rather be able to speak any language or speak to animals?”

 

“ _Animals – I've always wondered what they'd say if they could...”_

 

“Would you rather have a dragon or be a dragon?”

 

“ _Would I be able to change back?”_

 

“ _Nah.”_

 

“ _Have, then. I'd miss being human too much.”_

 

“ _How so? You'd be able to breathe fire and fly!”_

 

“ _Sex?”_

 

“ _Oh.”_

 

“Would you rather wear heels or be barefoot?”

 

“ _Heels.”_

 

“ _Ha! That I've got to see Malfoy.”_

 

“ _I'd look fabulous!”_

 

“ _Of course.”_

 

“Would you rather drink tea or coffee for the rest of your life.”

 

“ _Tea, naturally.”_

 

This went on for a while, though, one by one, the boys bowed out, until it was just Draco and Harry playing quietly in the breaks in other conversation. Neville had drifted off and Seamus wasn't far behind, his head lolling against Neville's legs. Dean had capped his ink jars, _Scourgified_ his quill and was now taking precise photographs with a very modern looking camera, Harry happily turning and posing. Blaise was reading a beauty article in the previously discarded _Witch Weekly_ (Moisturise Yourself Beautiful), still lying on his back, magazine held over his head. Ron and Theo were still playing chess, but had, at this point, migrated to a couch, abandoning two of the three boards and played leisurely, chatting about past games and exchanging tactical advise, debating the advantages of well-played pieces and chuckling over tales of unruly knights and rooks. The alcohol had been banished to Draco's room; those who remained awake had taken advantage of Kreacher's kindness and now cradled warm cups of coffee, tea or hot chocolate.

 

And, though it was getting late and many of their fellow eighth years had returned and retired with a wave, no one mentioned heading up to the dorms, despite the fact that Neville and Seamus were lights out and Dean, having stowed the camera after running out of film, wasn't far behind, his head in Seamus' lap, listening to Draco and Harry discuss Narcissa's latest project – a massive makeover of Malfoy Manor.

 

It wasn't much later that Blaise hissed at the pair, then nodded toward the couch; the trio grinning at the sight of Ron and Theo passed out, heads leaning together, chess board tilting dangerously between them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fifth chapter is still in the works.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, this was written as a one-shot, but I decided to break it up into chapters.
> 
> Thoughts?


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